CHAPTER XXXI
LAFAYETTE, WE’RE HERE
One of the great moments of this war was when General Pershing, newly arrived in France, was escorted in state to the tomb of the man who, in his ardent youth, left the most luxurious court in Europe, crossed the seas and offered his sword to George Washington.
The President of the French republic, the commander of the French army, with other dignitaries of the state and army, were in that escorting party, and when they approached the tomb they paused in silence, with bared heads, to hear what General Pershing should say. They expected a formal speech, but I do not think General Pershing could have made a speech just then. What he felt was too deep and too moving. His hand touched the hilt of his sword and then the hand went out toward the marble, and General Pershing said simply:
“Lafayette, we’re here.”
After the passing of a hundred and forty years we are in France to pay our debt, to offer our sword, the sword of America, to the cause of liberty. Whoever says we are fighting a profiteers’ war or a politicians’ war utters a lying slander. Whoever intimates that we shall ever sheathe the sword of America until the war is won, and the world is safe, simply does not know the facts, nor the temper of our army.
To make the world safe for democracy. That phrase has been repeated so many times that it has become almost a colloquialism. It is used in jest sometimes. But it is written on the hearts of the millions of men who have gone out to die, if need be, to make that dream a reality.
Whatever confusion of thought there may have been in the minds of the first armies that rushed out against the German invasion, there is no confusion or misunderstanding in the minds of those who fight to-day. The Belgians and the French fought first to save their homes. The British fought because they knew that their homes would next be endangered. The Russians and the Italians fought because they were attacked.
No doubt there was in the consciousness of some European statesmen the hope of territorial gains, or diplomatic advantages to follow after an allied victory. But that has all vanished now, drowned in the blood of the brave at Malines, Louvain, the Marne, Verdun, Rheims, Cantigny, Château Thierry, St. Michiel. Europe, except that part of it still ruled by Attila and his slaves, has purged itself of the old statesmanship, the old sinuous, scheming diplomacy.
There will never be any more Metternichs, or Talleyrands or Castlereaghs, never any more secret agreements between kings and statesmen. The old order has perished and now we have freemen fighting under leaders like Wilson, Lloyd George, Clemenceau, to make the world free.
The hope of the toiling masses all over the world, the vision of seers and prophets and poets since the dawn of time; the dreams dreamed in garrets, in city slums, in the snows of Siberia, on gallows high, on the sacred cross. The world set free. Free from the oppression of tyrants claiming divine rights; free from the cold exploitation of privilege; free from poverty and all the crime and prostitution and death that rise like a hideous miasma from the mire of poverty; free from war!
That is the free world for which our sons have crossed the seas to fight. That is the freedom for which almost every country in the world has united against the only remaining countries that do not want it, Germany, Austria, Turkey, Bulgaria.
In these pages I have tried to tell America, and especially the mothers of American soldiers, the meaning of the war, as it was shown to me over there. I have tried to picture to them how their sons are preparing to take their part in the war. How they are growing up to their task, how they are building the strong structure of an army, how they are laying the foundation of true internationalism, how we through our army are forming with the democratic peoples of the world a holy alliance much greater and more permanent than anything kings or statesmen ever planned.
When this is being written the year is barely finished that saw the first American transports sail for France. Yet over hundreds of miles of territory behind the battle lines our men, with hard and grueling labor, have built the industrial forts that in this practical age are necessary to an army’s life. They have established a base of supplies for millions of fighting men. They have built barracks, airdromes, hospitals, warehouses, factories and repair shops.
They have laid railroads, built wharves, dredged a great river. They have done more, our men, than dig themselves in trenches over there. They have shown Europe and the world the true heart and metal of America. What they have built will remain a monument for generations to point to and admire.
In Paris there stands a noble monument to our Washington, and at no great distance there is another to the rugged giant Abraham Lincoln. Each February the French people go and lay wreaths on these monuments. For years they have done this, and since April 6, 1917, they have kept their colors entwined with ours there.
Those statues are symbols of the historic friendship of France and America. I like to think that after the war, when great ships sail out of an ancient port of France, the sailors will remember that once they had to wait for the highest tide, but that American brawn and engineering skill scooped out the centuries of sand and silt that their biggest transports might pass with ease.
I like to believe that France will grow and prosper because of the railroads we laid down, the wharves and warehouses we built. Not in a spirit of boastfulness, but of love and gratitude do I wish that France may benefit from the things we have created on her soil.
I like also to think that the France of to-morrow, and the Belgium which will be reborn, will be healthier, happier, stronger of mind and soul for the work of our Red Cross, for all the relief and succor we have been able to send there. They will never forget, those martyred Belgians, those hard pressed French. Our troops never pass through a village, our flag never appears that the children in the street fail to salute.
Once they had reason to believe, those brave allies in Europe, that we were merely generous of money, that we were willing to give only out of our overflowing pockets. But since we began to give our men they think otherwise. They know now that everything we have, everything we are, is pledged to the fight against tyranny and the world’s woe.
This spring and summer will see the preliminary work of building an army well nigh completed, and the men who have been handling picks and shovels, those who have been learning the war game, the men in camps and army schools will be ready to fight. Already they have won their spurs in several fierce engagements, and not yet has any fight of theirs been lost. Already American soldiers are in Lorraine and Alsace, fighting on what Germany calls her soil, but which will never be hers, even in name, again.
Can you imagine the wild joy, the renewed hope, the quickened spirit that fills the hearts of the men who have been fighting for nearly four years? Against terrible odds, against one ally which German cunning poisoned to death, almost against hope our allies have fought. Thank heaven that we came up in time.
There is one question every returned correspondent is asked, and the question has been put to me but I have never answered it. When will the war end? I am going to answer it now. Not in terms of years, because I, no more than the greatest general, can do that. The war is going to end when it is won. Not a day, not an hour before. Much fighting, horrible suffering, enormous sacrifice lie between us and victory, but victory is sure.
We shall lose thousands, hundreds of thousands, it may be. But for every American soldier that falls eight Germans will die, be sure of that. The only army in the world that is absolutely fresh and untired is the American army. Our men will tire, but before they do all the Germans left alive will be exhausted.
The pæan sung by William the accursed to glorify the thirtieth anniversary of his succession to the throne of the Hohenzollerns is the last one he will ever sing. The first battle in France by an American division sealed the doom of the Hohenzollerns. It was the beginning of the last act of the world’s bloodiest drama.
Lafayette, we’re here. The countrymen of Washington and Lincoln could not keep out of this fight. We shall never stop coming, never stop fighting until the war to free the world is won. France, Italy, Belgium, Russia, wherever the red tide leads take our sons. Spare us all useless sacrifices, for they are very dear to us, those young, bright lives.
But take them, take them all if need be, leave this generation wholly bereft and mourning, rather than surrender to the hordes of Attila. Better for us any sacrifice of blood and tears than to lose the dream, now at last so nearly realized, of the world set free.
FINIS